


the religious and the damned

by firewoodfigs



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, brief mentions of religion, but all's good because he's Riza's idiot, but they get married, my first one-shot xD, roy being a loser, slight angst because ishval, who's terrible at proposing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:56:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodfigs/pseuds/firewoodfigs
Summary: Roy Mustang has never been a particularly religious man, but as he lays down beside Riza Hawkeye, he can't help but wonder if this is how religion is supposed to feel like.//"The first time Roy gets to see her face again after losing his vision, he thinks she looks absolutely cherubic. Seraphic, even, despite the tears falling down her lovely face....He grins, unadulterated delight colouring his once-darkened eyes as he brings her other hand that he had been holding on to for support to his lips. “I love you, Riza Hawkeye, but I’m sure you know that already.”
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 33
Kudos: 102





	the religious and the damned

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Halsey's "Colors" - in particular, the line "I know I've only felt religion when I've lied with you."

_the religious and the damned_

Roy Mustang has never been a particularly religious man.

As a scientist and as an alchemist, he preferred to believe in things that could be proven. The concept of having a faith in something that could neither be proved nor disproved was rather antithetical to that. Scientists like himself relied on solid statistics and empirical evidence and were disinclined to put their faith in something so abstract; something that could not be observed with the naked eye.

The idea of a God who cared for his creation seemed like a distant pipe dream, especially after the horror of what happened in Ishval. It had been years, but the memory of people being forsaken and left to die screaming; broken pleas of mercy being the last words to leave their lips, was still very much fresh in his mind.

Even after coming face to face with the Truth, and having his place in the world as a small, inconsequential being heavily reinforced, he’d never quite felt that kind of divine intervention that people so often spoke of. It was one thing to intellectually acknowledge the existence of a superior being, but another to have faith; to feel a kind of spirituality and love overflowing in one’s heart that the religious spoke so often of. 

And yet, lying beside his beloved, in a hospital bed that was all too small for their two injured but healing bodies and spirits…

He couldn’t help but wonder if this is what religion feels like.

Damn right he can’t see, but he can feel her warmth, and he runs his fingers through her soft tendrils greedily. Gently, he rests his arm around her waist, murmuring her name into her golden locks like a prayer. _Riza, Riza._ _You’re okay._ In the quietness and solitude of the night, when it was just the both of them alone, there was no need for frivolous things like rankings or titles.

When she responds with his name on her chapped lips, equal parts prayerful and raspy, it is almost electrifying. That she is even _alive_ now, after the ordeal they had gone through, is enough to send shivers down his spine. _God,_ he could bear having his vision taken away, but nothing was more terrifying than watching his other half, his reason for living, almost bleeding to death in front of his eyes.

The knowledge of the fact that they are soulmates, fingers interlaced with each other’s and souls even more closely intertwined, dawns upon him like a suppressed, yet intimate, revelation. It was something that he had known for a long time but had been unable to express - much less embrace.

This time, though, he can embrace _her_ in his arms, and he does so tenderly, careful not to jostle her or risk reopening her wounds, immensely grateful to whoever gave mankind life for letting hers continue.

~x~

The first time Roy gets to see her face again after losing his vision, he thinks she looks absolutely cherubic. Seraphic, even, despite the tears falling down her lovely face.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t quite realised he was holding and reaches out to cup her cheek tenderly. “When I… when I lost my sight…” he swallows, feeling a rare surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm him, “my biggest fear was that I would never get to see you smile again.”

And so she smiles widely, so brightly for him, rubbing away her tears impatiently before proceeding to caress the side of his face with feather-like touches in a somewhat uncharacteristic display of joy and relief.

She looks him straight in the eye and reassures him firmly, “Now you can, and you can see it for the rest of your life, sir.”

 _Well, thank God._ He grins, unadulterated delight colouring his once-darkened eyes as he brings her other hand that he had been holding on to for support to his lips. “I love you, Riza Hawkeye, but I’m sure you know that already.”

His sudden confession nearly causes her to choke on nothingness, and he can’t help but chuckle at her reaction (which was precisely just as he predicted).

Not one for slip ups, though, her stoic facade quickly makes a comeback. “I’m well-aware, sir.” Then, a pause. “I suppose the same applies to you.”

~x~

Life after that resumes as per normal. They both get down to work immediately, Riza with her usual competence and efficiency and Roy with surprising focus.

He had an oath to fulfill, sins to atone for, and lives to rebuild, after all. It wouldn’t do good to skive off or approach the sacred home of the Ishvalans so indolently.

And yet... something between them had changed irrevocably.

After almost losing her, he had found it increasingly difficult to contain his unbridled affection for her. The thought of losing her without ever having told her how much he loves her, without the chance to spend the rest of their lives _together, as man and woman,_ not just as Brigadier General and Captain, is enough to tear his heart apart completely.

_Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder._

It is the same for her, too - her increasingly frequent glances at him, filled with warmth and concern and fondness all at once, don’t go unnoticed.

Roy doesn’t think he’s deserving of such a privilege, much less worthy of her love _,_ after the atrocities he’s committed in his life. Perhaps it would have been selfish - avaricious, even - to crave something more; to desire his subordinate in a completely unprofessional and desperate manner. In his darkest and drunkest moments, he often caught himself ruminating upon whether a sinner like him even deserved to pursue something as abstract as happiness.

This, he knows, are sentiments that Riza shares about herself as well.

Because even if killing people from afar prevented their hands from being stained with blood... the red on their hands wasn’t something that could be easily washed away. Even if the lives they took were for fealty’s sake, under a lawless decree, it didn’t excuse the fact that _they_ were the perpetrators; the harbingers of doom in the war-torn desert.

Still, he cannot help but think that it would be equally selfish to deny _her_ of happiness after all that she’s done as expiation. Contrary to the punishment she thought she deserved, _he_ believed that she deserved someone who could chase her darkest fears and nightmares away. Someone to hold her at night with love and endearment; someone who would stroke her back and let her know that, for all her sins and scars, she was untainted and utterly breathtaking.

… It seemed like he desperately needed to have a conversation with her grandfather soon about taking his granddaughter’s hand in marriage. 

~x~

The only response Führer Grumman has, as Roy conquers his queen on the chess board, is that _it’s about damn time_.

Riza’s grandfather wastes no time in filing the paperwork and abolishing the archaic laws (the good thing about a stratocracy, he supposed, was that there was no legislative body to stop the Führer if he so wanted to amend the laws of the land).

He promptly announces it in the Gazette the next day, gleefully awaiting the good news.

~x~

There is no rest for the wicked, they say.

Roy feels this in his bones - as thankful as he was to see that they were making good progress, he was undeniably exhausted from all the travelling and paperwork. He had been approaching every single project thus far with startling alacrity, but the late nights and even earlier mornings (only his precious Captain could wake him up before the sun even rose) were definitely taking a toll on his body.

On this bright Sunday morning, though, he finally has a day off and relishes the sweet luxury of not being tortured with more forms to fill and more papers to sign.

_On the day of the Sabbath._

He grins, and despite seeing her every single day for the past few months, doesn’t hesitate in inviting his favourite adjutant out to brunch, having already made preparations for this day after Grumman’s announcement.

As soon as she agrees, he gets dressed in his favourite suit.

This time, he doesn’t spend time posing in his mirror with his fancy shirts, because he has none to waste - he had flowers to buy and a surprise to prepare for the girl he has adored since his awkward adolescence. 

~x~

“Riza.” She looks up at him in anticipation, mirth dancing in her eyes as she calmly sips her lavender tea and savours the last of her fruit tart.

Of course, she understands him so well that she already knows what’s coming, especially after her grandfather’s timely declaration that the anti-fraternisation laws were no more.

Not to mention the fact that they were now seated in a private room of a particularly exquisite and fanciful place for a supposedly _simple_ brunch, so that it was just the two of them on what would usually have been a busy Sunday morning, accompanied by the obnoxious roses that he had bought which fit snugly in a vase.

(A vase _,_ complete with a delicate satin ribbon around the rim, because he remembered from their phone call that she didn’t own one.)

She _knows_ what is coming, and could have easily spared him all this trouble. But it is still amusing to see someone like Roy, widely acclaimed as a professional flirt and womaniser, fidgeting and squirming nervously as he pulls out a velvet box from the pocket of his blazer and comes to her side, resting on one knee.

He swallows, and opens the lid to reveal a silver band crowned with two sapphire stones and a dazzling diamond in between. “Would you like to... accompany me at home, after working hours?”

 _God, that came out so wrong._ His attempts to do it the unconventional way just made him sound like a total idiot.

He struggles to correct himself, instead opting for, “I mean, well, you could be my wife instead of just my captain.”

Now that was even worse - he made it sound like a proposal instead of a question.

It was technically a proposal, but _still._ He was supposed to ask for her hand in marriage, not just sound like he was handing out another work order.

… _I give up._ Normally, it was easy to make women fall at his feet with an easy, charming smirk, but now he was just falling at _her_ feet in embarrassment.

“That is…” he takes out the ring and prepares to put it on her finger, but her left hand is currently busy covering her mouth to contain her laughter.

After what feels like an eternity to Roy, she relents, and gives him her left hand. “I already said I’d follow you into hell if you wish, _sir_.” He slips the ring on easily, admiring the way it looks on her callused hands, rough from years of handling guns and rifles.

It looks absolutely stunning, and _so, so right_ on her.

He flashes her a good-natured smile as he rises up to meet her eyes, filled with a tenderness that makes his heart swell with pride and overwhelming gratitude that _she is his and he is hers_. “Why do you assume marrying me is akin to hell?”

She laughs. “You’re not quite giving me room for an ordinary yes with your unconventional ways of asking, Roy.”

Roy sighs, somewhat embarrassed still, but overjoyed all the same that she had accepted, and even more delighted with how easily their first names roll off each other’s tongues now. He gazes into her amber eyes, soft and reminiscent of cinnamon, silently asking for permission to kiss her.

Riza’s only response is a loving smile and a slightly bashful nod, and so he leans down to meet her lips with his, doing so gently, with all the reverence in his soul - almost as though he was worshipping her very existence.

It would be sacrilegious to do so otherwise - after all, an angel like her deserved nothing less.

~x~

As she travels down the aisle gracefully, he thinks that _maybe God is real, after all, for she’s the closest thing created in his image._ _Imago dei._

Decked in a simple, ivory dress that clung to her figure like a second skin, with golden tresses adorning her lovely face like a halo, he swears that she looks positively divine, almost ethereal.

He’s never had a lot to be happy about, not after the war and the constant flurry of visions and nightmares of the terrified faces of the victims who died under his merciless fingers - a _damned_ soul, condemned forever to burning flames for the sins he has committed.

And yet, in this moment, he feels utterly _blessed._

Surely he must be a blessed man, and the gods must have been smiling down upon him, because how else could he have gotten the chance to be able to share the rest of his life with such a beautiful soul like hers?

Their eyes meet at the altar, a resplendent mix of scarlet and obsidian; an unspoken promise of eternity drawn out before them. At this point, vows are pretty much redundant when they know each other so well. He knows her like the back of his hand, has all her habits memorised like braille in reverse; an unyielding understanding forged through their shared trials and tribulations.

This time, she doesn’t need to follow him to hell - he’d gladly follow her to heaven instead.

When he lifts the delicate veil shrouding crimson and vermillion - it streaks across her cheeks the way celestial beings decorate the night sky - his breath hitches in his throat at her unparalleled beauty; at his realisation that, despite their transgressions and iniquities, they had made it to this day. To the happiest day of their wretched, blasphemous lives. 

Roy Mustang has never been a particularly religious man, but when he finally kisses her in front of everyone as a sign of his everlasting commitment to her, he does so with such a fierce, pious devotion to her being that he thinks he could be a priest in his next life.

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is dedicated to @vrangrpen, who has been the best beta I could ever ask for - thank you for reviewing this multiple times and for being so patient and encouraging; letting me bounce off fic ideas all the time even at the most ungodly hours! Also dedicated to @metacrisis_chook - thank you for always being so supportive and I hope this brings you good cheer :) 
> 
> And to you who's reading - thank you for reading till the end! It's my first ever one-shot, so I'd love to hear any feedback that you might have - comments will be greatly appreciated ^_^ 
> 
> If you're interested to read my other works, I'm currently working on a multi-chap royai fic titled a slow unravelling! 
> 
> // 
> 
> Say hi on Tumblr if you're there, I'm firewoodfigs :)


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